


Debut

by cosmogyrals



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmogyrals/pseuds/cosmogyrals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha tells her story for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debut

It's her debut performance. She flexes her fingers, holding them out to the fire to warm them a bit. She's been wearing gloves, but the winter wind is harsh and biting, and her hands are still a little numb. Now isn't the time to make clumsy mistakes, she knows. She's practised her songs, but not enough - never enough - and she's never performed before, not like _this_. She's only played for herself and a couple other people, always people she knew, and never complete strangers. Her fingers are shaking with a combination of uncertainty and stage fright; if only this wasn't quite so _important_. She can't put this off any longer - she's already wasted so much time. Hopefully not _too_ much time.

Martha runs her fingers over the strings, remembering when she'd stumbled across the guitar and started formulating her plan. It had all seemed so _simple_ then, without the eyes staring at her, illuminated by the flickering firelight. She'd found it in the wreckage of a cabin somewhere in the American Northeast - Vermont, maybe? (It doesn't matter; all the geographical boundaries have dissolved - for that matter, so have the political ones. Only social boundaries remain; even the Master can't eradicate those.) The guitar's clearly handmade, and a finer instrument than the modest beginner's guitar Martha owns - or owned, rather, since hers went up in flames with the rest of her belongings. Its voice is smooth and mellow, fitting well with her own voice - not that Martha's anything close to a trained singer, but, she thinks, maybe it's better that she isn't.

She's not much of a composer, either, but the simple truth of her story shines out through the lyrics, aided by her unadorned alto voice. It carries through the darkness, clear and strong, surprising even Martha. She looks around at her audience; every one of them is staring at her, even the man who'd professed disbelief when she first arrived - he'd started out lurking in a dark corner, scoffing as she spoke. Now he's at the edge of the circle of people sitting around the fire, his gaze as attentive as the rest of them. 

Of course, the music is the easy part - the hard part is the stories. No matter how many times she tells them, it never gets any easier - not with the memories they awaken. When the last chord fades away, she sets the guitar down next to her as her small audience starts to clap, and is surprised when one of the older children immediately takes it and puts it gently back in its case. She smiles gratefully at him as she takes a sip of water, swallowing past the lump in her throat. What would her family think if they could see her now? And what would the _Doctor_ think?

Martha coughs gently, clearing her throat, and begins. "My name is Martha. Maybe you've heard of me, maybe you haven't. But this isn't about me. It's about _you_ \- it's about all of us. And it's about a man called the Doctor."


End file.
